Of Magnificence and Phenomenons
by Emily-Rose-Love
Summary: How does the High Warlock of Brooklyn deal with his increasing connection to the young Shadowhunters? How about his increasing connection to one very blue-eyed boy in particular? The story of "City of Bones" from Magnus' point of view.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I'm new to the fanfiction world, but very excited about writing for the Mortal Instruments. This story will follow what we know of Magnus' life and his burgeoning relationship with Alec over the course of City of Bones. Essentially, it's the story from Magnus' point of view. Let me know your thoughts and if it's worth continuing. Thanks so much! Extra note: All of the dialogue in this chapter is taken from "City of Bones." I do not claim ownership. **

**Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns all of these characters, the locations, the story, and a good portion of the dialogue. (Especially in the first few chapters.) I own nothing but my imagination; the universe is hers. **

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The party was well under way. The location was Brooklyn, where its resident was notoriously categorized as a haute hippie meets high-class urbanite. The loft was spacious and empty, save for the large crowd monopolizing the dance floor. The high-ceiling windows were spattered with mud and paint. A Silly String battle had sullied the floors and walls. An improvised bar had been created in the corner, where colorful drinks were served at the ready. Creatures writhed against each other to a low erotic beat. Sweat ran from body to body in a hot, tangled mess. Elegant yet feral, dazzling yet untoward — all of the attendees were unlikely to forget it any time soon. Unless, of course, they had one of those deadly cocktails.

The host of the party moved with an elegant sort of grace, a unique cross between that of a ballerina and panther. He walked in a way that was sexually ambiguous despite his flamboyant nature. He was the kind of boy that had broken countless hearts since natality and had had his heart broken many times in return. Only he wasn't a boy at all, but a man of immortality, already having lived the better part of eight centuries.

Throwing parties like these were his escape. An attempt to recapture the glories of youth and exhibition. He yearned to feel alive again, to be surprised by life's events. So he filled up his loft with hundreds of arbitrary Downworlders, and waited to be surprised.

He wound his way through his eclectic set of guests, recieving an inordinate amount of ogles and stares as he passed. It was difficult to discern which was more famous: Magnus Bane or the parties he threw.

Everything most people aspired to be came innately to him, in both confidence and style. He had a finely sculpted face, with angular cheekbones and a pointed nose. His skin was a brilliant caramel color, a naturally perfect tan that was envied to no end. He was impressively tall but not lanky. His almond eyes were the greatest hint of his Asian heritage. His irises were a spectacular shade of chartreuse yellow, dangerously similar to that of a cat's. They were frighteningly enchanting, to the point where it became impossible to look away. It didn't help that he had a flagrant habit of accentuating them with the darkest shades of eye makeup. He wore his black hair in a crown of gelled-up spikes for the night, a look only befitting of the High Warlock of Brooklyn. His lips were painted an unsettlingly bright blue. Magnus Bane was unconventional maybe, with a look that was eight centuries in the making.

Chairman Meow, in all his furry glory, rustled toward his owner. He brushed up against the warlock's famously long legs to earn his attention. Magnus picked up the cat and cradled the little beast in his arms as if he were a baby. He continued to work his way through the maze of partygoers. He stopped very rarely, only to offer the occassional greeting to an acquaintance or two. He affectionately petted the animal as he moved, rubbing the sensitive spot between the cat's ears.

The buzzer of his loft sounded loudly, interrupting his impressive walk through the room. Then it buzzed again, even more obnoxiously disruptive than the last time. Spooked, Chairman Meow dropped from Magnus' arms and scurried away from him like a bat out of hell. He ran down a hallway and disappeared around the corner. Magnus dejectedly realized it may be a good while before he saw his cat again.

With little secondary options, Magnus sauntered down his hallway and over to the staircase to deal with this latest nuisance. He flew down the decrepit steps of his apartment until reaching the entryway. He threw open the door with a slight show of spirit.

There were five of them waiting impatiently outside, all uniquely different in appearance. A girl, stunning and aware of it, tore her hand away from the buzzer. She wore a fashionable silver skirt that fell in ruffles to the floor and a revealing black sequined top. Her nails were painted with a gold glitter that earned her an ounce of respect from the High Warlock. The second girl was less beautiful perhaps, but far more striking. Her hair was a fiery, very familiar shade of red. Her dress was simple and short, matched with a pair of boots and fishnets. He knew her identity in a second. Clarissa Fray was very difficult to forget, no matter what age he saw her at.

There were three boys in their company, all wearing black. The first was a little weaselly, with pants that weren't tailored for his body and a shirt that had been flipped inside out. The least memorable of the bunch, Magnus decided. Next to him was an angelic blonde leaning casually against the wall of the building. He wore a look that suggested he was willing to raise hell at a moment's notice despite the languid pose. He was cocky no doubt, but almost too attractive for someone to care. The final boy was hidden behind the rest, his body undeniably self-conscious. He looked hesitantly up at the warlock, and Magnus nearly took a step back. The boy's eyes were a breathtaking, heartstopping blue. They sparkled up at him innocently, offset brilliantly by the boy's dark hair.

"Magnus?" the beautiful girl inquired, reclaiming his attention. She smiled too brightly to be genuine. "Magnus Bane?"

"That would be me." Magnus continued to scrutinize the group, curious of their intentions and wondering how a person's eyes could possibly be that blue. As he studied them all closer, seeing the remnants of markings, he came to a quick conclusion. "Children of the Nephilim." He didn't bother hiding his disappointment. "Well, well. I don't recall inviting you."

The girl carefully took out a piece of paper, waving it in Magnus' direction. "I have an invitation. These" —she gestured to her entourage— "are my friends."

Magnus snatched the invitation away, giving it a once-over, ever careful not to miss the details. "I must have been drunk," he admitted, but still threw open the door to them. Magnus Bane was not one to renege on his word. If they'd been wrongly sent an invitation, he wouldn't deny them such a right. "Come in. And try not to murder any of my guests."

The pretty blonde boy stepped forward first, elongating his body to seem taller. "Even if one of them spills a drink on my new shoes?" The words sounded like a challenge. It implied the question: Who was the greater bad ass between them?

"Even then," Magnus said curtly. His hands, moving quicker than the fangs of a vipor, snatched up a stele from the hands of the blonde boy. He'd noticed it minutes before, but waited until the perfect moment for dramatic effect. He held it up to the light, allowing it to shine for all to see. "As for this," —he slipped the stele back into the boy's jeans pocket— "keep it in your pants, Shadowhunter."

The arrogant boy appeared disconcerted now that he had been bested by a sexual free spirit.

Magnus simply smiled in return before taking off back up his stairs. "Come on." He waved with a newfound energy for them to follow. "Before anyone thinks it's _my_ party." With that, he continued up the stairs, not sparing a second to see if the Shadowhunters had followed.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here's Chapter 2! Just a little more insight into the infamous warlock we all know and love. Also, the epic starting moments of Malec. Happy reading to all! Please leave a review. **

**Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns all of these characters, the locations, the story, and a good portion of the dialogue. (Especially in the first few chapters.) I own nothing but my imagination; the universe is hers.**

* * *

Magnus watched the girl like a predator stalked its prey. Clarissa Fray stood alone amidst his peculiar guests, completely unafraid. She eyed his bartender in wonderment, her big curious eyes glowing. She was even fascinated by the overabundance of vampires in the vicinity, studying each and every creature with rapt attention. She bore an uncanny resemblance to Dorothy Gale, as if the scene around her had just popped into Technicolor and she was finally seeing clearly.

"Welcome to Oz," Magnus muttered under his breath.

Clarissa's relaxed nature meant either one of two things: She still didn't have the Sight or she was vastly naive and foolish around Downworlders. The latter, he supposed. Magnus still wasn't entirely sure of the Shadowhunters' reasons for crashing his party. Even if he _had_ mistakenly invited them, most Shadowhunters wouldn't dare to associate themselves with these hybrids. It had to have something to do with the girl. Why else would the daughter of Jocelyn Fairchild be there?

"You like the party?" Magnus asked over the pounding beat of faery music.

Clarissa turned around, slowly spotting him in the darkness. She smiled more politely than he was accustomed. "Is it in honor of anything?"

His eyes glossed over. "My cat's birthday."

"Oh." She searched around for the creature. "Where's your cat?"

Magnus pensively removed himself from the pillar he'd been leaning on. "I don't know. He ran away."

The boy Shadowhunters returned then. The pretty blonde had made himself quite at home, already thoroughly enjoying the party and pushing it to its limits. A festive necklace made of small lit flowers hung around his neck, surely a gift from one of the Fair Folk. His lips hung in a satisfied grin. His partner, the more serious-looking one, eyed the scenery warily, as if he expected a demon might attack at any given moment. Perhaps he should have been more concerned with the High Warlock of Brooklyn preying on him.

"Where are Simon snd Isabelle?" Clarissa asked her friends. Magnus made a mental note of the names.

"On the dance floor," the pretty blonde supplied, pointing out to the sea of bodies where the beautiful girl and nerdy human boy had taken to dancing in an awkwardly sensual manner. "Look," the blonde went on, more seriously, turning back to Magnus, "we really need to talk to—"

"MAGNUS BANE!" a new masculine voice interrupted, unfitting of its owner's body. Ivan Komarov came bounding toward the host, looking about as frightening as one could with a five foot nothing frame. He waved a finger unsteadily at the warlock. "Someone just poured holy water into the gas tank on my bike. It's ruined. Destroyed. All the pipes are melted."

"Melted?" Magnus' eyes drifted back to the mischievous blonde. The boy—Jace as he now knew him to be—elicited his most winsome smile, and Magnus instantly knew of his shenanigans. He turned back to the vampire, uncaring over this frivolous child's play. "How dreadful," he remarked.

"I want to know who did it." Ivan's lips pulled back, revealing razor sharp fangs. "I thought you swore there'd be no wolf-men here tonight, _Bane_."

"I invited none of the Moon's Children." Magnus sighed, inspecting the well-kept cuticles on his nails. The party had hit a dry spell for him. "Precisely because of your stupid little feud. If any of them decided to sabotage your bike, they weren't a guest of mine, and are therefore..." He smiled even more wickedly than Jace. "Not my responsibility."

Ivan jabbed his finger near Magnus. "Are you going to tell me that—"

Someone should have told him that _no one_ threathened the Great Magnus Bane.

Magnus flicked his finger in a delicate but subtle motion. It sent Ivan's hands to his throat, where he clawed at the skin as he struggled to breath. He choked down air, unable to replenish his lungs. His mouth opened and closed unthinkingly.

"You've worn out your welcome," he informed Ivan as plainly as he could. He flicked his finger in a circle. The vampire turned around as if he were a puppet and Magnus held the strings. "Now go." He sent him tramping back through the crowd and to the exit, all without a seed of his consent.

"That was impressive," Jace noted.

"You mean that little hissy fit? I know. What _is_ her problem?"

The boy with the exquisite blue eyes laughed suddenly at Magnus' humor. It was a loud, unexpected coughing noise, and as far as a person could be from suave. The boy was so different from the warlock. Youthful. Guileless. But Magnus still couldn't help but find himself drawn to him. Black hair and blue eyes were his favorite combination after all.

"We put the holy water in his gas tank, you know." His cerulean eyes were shining brightly, almost as if he were having a teasing moment with the warlock. As if he were proud of the little prank they'd played.

"ALEC." Jace sounded in warning. "Shut up."

_Alec._ Magnus felt the name on his lips. It was simple, straightforward. He liked it a lot.

"I assumed that." Magnus smiled at the boy — Alec. "Vindictive little bastards, aren't you? You know their bikes run on demon energies. I doubt he'll be able to repair it."

"One less leech with a fancy ride." Jace was deadpan. "My heart bleeds."

"I heard some of them can make their bikes fly," Alec wondered aloud.

"Merely an old witches' tale." Magnus waved away the possibility. It surprised him how much he enjoyed educating the young Shadowhunter. Perhaps he could teach him about other more rewarding aspects of a Downworlder's life. "So is that why you wanted to crash my party? Just to wreck some bloodsucker bikes?"

"No." Jace made a point of becoming serious again. "We need to talk to you. Preferably somewhere private."

Magnus raised a perfectly tweezed eyebrow. "Am I in trouble with the Clave?"

"No," said Jace.

"Probably not," Alec tacked on, his words earning him a swift kick in the ankle from his golden-haired friend. "Ow!"

"No," Jace reiterated. "We can talk to you under the seal of the Covenant. If you help us, anything you say will be confidential."

"And if I don't help you?" Magnus knew how this game worked. Knowing the stakes was the key to dealing with Shadowhunters. They had a habit of crossing you if you didn't cooperate.

"Maybe nothing." Jace shrugged. "Maybe a visit from the Silent City."

Magnus' eyes narrowed into icy slits. It was a dangerous thing to bully a warlock, especially one as powerful as he. "That's quite a choice you're offering me, little Shadowhunter."

"It's no choice at all," Jace countered brightly.

"Yes," Magnus said. "That's exactly what I meant."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Chapter 3! Thanks so much for reading. Please review more.**

**Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns all of these characters, the locations, the story, and a good portion of the dialogue. (Especially in the first few chapters.) I own nothing but my imagination; the universe is hers.**

* * *

The room was sacred ground. A holy sanctuary that belonged solely to Magnus Bane and the occassional lover — or _lovers,_ depending on the warlock's mood. No one stepped foot into Magnus' bedroom without a private invitation. With disappointment, Magnus realized that only one of the room's currect visitors would have recieved one from him. The blue-eyed boy, of course. Alec still held a certain fascination for him. He had such innocence. Such candidness. It didn't hurt that he was also gorgeous, in a subtle sort of way when compared to his blonde friend.

Speaking of which...

"Nice place," Jace commented as he acquainted himself on a personal level with Magnus' rainbow-colored curtains. He snooped around the room without a sense of boundaries. "Guess it pays well, being the High Warlock of Brooklyn?"

"It pays," Magnus said simply. He didn't need to add that the whole lot of them could never afford his services, if not for the fact that they'd intimidated him into it. Magnus Bane was never one to work for free. He had to finance his luxurious lifestyle somehow. Not to mention the extravagant wardrobe. "Not much of a benefit package, though. No dental." He closed his bedroom door for privacy, leaning heavily against the wooden frame. "So." He eyed the group with expectation. "What's on your devious little minds?"

"It's not them, actually," Clarissa said. "I'm the one who wanted to talk to you."

Magnus' eyes flashed to her. He had already assumed as much. "You are not one of them. Not of the Clave. But you can see the Invisible World." He decided to feign ignorance of her past, to lie whenever he deemed it necessary. Anything to avoid being wrapped up in messy Shadowhunter business.

"My mother was one of the Clave," Clarissa explained. "But she never told me. She kept it a secret. I don't know why."

"So ask her." It was too simple a solution, Magnus knew.

"I can't. She's..." Clarissa swallowed uncomfortably. "She's gone."

"And your father?" Magnus probed.

Clarissa didn't miss a beat. "He died before I was born."

Quite the calamity. Magnus let out a sharp, unhappy breath. "As Oscar Wilde once said, "To lose one parent may be regarded as a misfortune. To lose both looks like carelessness.'"

Jace made an angry rasping sound, as if the analysis upset him. Alec stood in the same rigid pose he'd had since first arriving to the room — arms at his side, eyes staring straight ahead. He wasn't there on behalf of the girl, that much was obvious. Magnus absently wondered who he was there for then.

"I didn't lose my mother," Clarissa snapped gently. "She was taken from me. By Valentine."

"I don't know any Valentine," Magnus asserted quickly. Another lie. This one damnable. It was a hard thing to discuss — the Shadowhunter who had such evil in his heart for every Downworlder. Magnus would rather forget him altogether. The young Shadowhunters would be wise to do the same. "I'm sorry for your tragic circumstances, but I fail to see what any of this has to do with me. If you could tell me—"

"She can't tell you, because she doesn't remember," Jace interrupted, ever quick to jump to Clarissa's defense.

Magnus in his uniquely astute way took note of the ties within the group; Alec to Jace; Jace to Clary; Clary to Simon; Simon to Isabelle; Isabelle to Alec. It was a complicated circle of connection that thoroughly interested Magnus against his better, typically more blasé judgement. He had so many questions about their dynamic. What were to happen if the clear lines between them were broken or blurred? If another was added to it?

"Someone erased her memories," Jace went on. "So we went to the Silent City to see what the Brothers could pull out of her head. They got two words." His eyes intensified as he stared down the warlock, a heavenly sort of fire glowing in them. "I think you can guess what they were."

Magnus knew right away. How foolish he was all those years ago. How naive to assume that his actions would never catch up with him, bringing along a diverse and disruptive little group of teenagers to one of his wildly exclusive parties. "My signature," he breathed knowingly. "I knew it was folly when I did it." He shook his head. "An act of hubris..."

"You _signed_ my mind?" Clarisaa was outraged.

Magnus lifted his hand lithely into the air, small sparks of golden flames coming alive at his fingertips. He began moving his fingers into delicate swirls that formed the unmistakable shape of letters. He eventually lowered his hand to reveal his own name hanging magically in the air. **Magnus Bane.**

Each marveled at the hanging words, as if they had never been witness to magic before. Alec was especially astounded at the sight. His blue eyes widened considerably as if he were in shock. He recovered quickly, composing himself to his former unmoving state. He shifted faintly on his feet as if the thought of magic in such close proximity distressed him. A typical response from a Shadowhunter, Magnus knew. Most of them were raised to feel disapproval over any use of magic. But Magnus couldn't erase the nagging hope that Alec would be different.

"I was proud of my work on you," Magnus told them, lifting his eyes from the fiery print of his name to the girl whose mind would bear it permanently. "So clean. So perfect. What you saw you would forget, even as you saw it. No image of pixie or goblin or long-legged beastie would remain to trouble your blameless mortal sleep. It was the way she wanted it."

Clary's eyes widened in recognition, as if she already had the answer to the very question she was about to ask. "The way who wanted it?"

It pained him to say it, but Magnus could not avoid the truth on this one. The girl deserved this much from him. He sighed once, preparing to answer. The shining letters of his name floated away to ash. "Your mother," Magnus said after a pause.

He waited for the bitter responses of three impressively angry — and mildly confused — Shadowhunters.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Okay, I suck for taking so long to update this, but it's my last month of school and I've been swamped. :( To make up for it, here is an extra long chapter to satisfy your malec needs. Enjoy & Review! **

**Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns all of these characters, the locations, the story, and a good portion of the dialogue. (Especially in the first few chapters.) I own nothing but my imagination; the universe is hers.**

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"My _mother_ did this to me?" Clarissa was furious, and rightfully so, but Magnus couldn't help but detect the underlying sense of betrayal coursing through her. It overshadowed her fury, cloaking her in an almost tangible wave of disbelief and disappointment. Her arms hugged her body. Her green eyes paled with mist. It was quite a pitiful sight, even the warlock felt stirrings of sympathy deep within. "Why?" she asked him in a broken voice.

"I don't know," Magnus answered coolly, although he had a pretty good idea of Jocelyn's reasons. "It's not my job to ask questions. I do what I get paid to do."

"Within the bounds of the Covenant," Jace reminded him, his voice thick with a boastful authority.

Magnus kept his muscles relaxed to keep from throttling the pretty blonde. "Within the bounds of the Covenant, of course."

"So the Covenant's all right with this—this mind-rape?" Clarissa demanded, her sadness long replaced by anger.

The room was silent. No one thought it wise to respond to someone so distraught. Magnus took the moment to glance at Jace. His eyes were filled with an intense sort of concern. Even Alec, as professional and detached as he was, appeared to feel for the girl.

"Was it only once?" Clarissa continued, her body sinking to the bed as if her dainty frame could no longer support her weight. "Was there something specific she wanted me to forget? Do you know what is was?"

So many questions. Magnus idly wondered if her curious nature would be her undoing.

He strided briskly over to his windows. "I don't think you understand. The first time I ever saw you, you must have been about two years old. I was watching out this window"—his long fingers spread out and knocked against the glass—"and I saw her hurrying up the street, holding something wrapped in a blanket. I was surprised when she stopped at my door. She looked so ordinary, so young."

The memory came back to him in crystal clear form. He could replay the events in his mind as if it were a movie and he its only viewer. He could easily picture meeting Jocelyn that first time, a baby held tightly in her arms.

"She unwrapped the blanket when she came in my door. You were inside it. She set you down on the floor and you started ranging around, picking things up, pulling my cat's tail—you screamed like a banshee when the cat scratched you, so I asked your mother if you _were_ part banshee. She didn't laugh." He pursed his lips in a way that implied he still found the little anecote amusing all these years later.

"She told me she was a Shadowhunter," Magnus continued. "There was no point in her lying about it; Covenant Marks show up, even when they've faded with time, like faint silver scars against the skin. They flickered when she moved." He rubbed his eyes, tired of replaying the memory. "She told me she'd hoped you'd been born with a blind Inner Eye—some Shadowhunters have to be taught to see the Shadow World. But she'd caught you that afternoon, teasing a pixie trapped in a hedge. She knew you could _see_. So she asked me if it was possible to blind you of the Sight."

Clarissa gasped as if in pain, but Magnus went on in his typical relentless fashion.

"I told her that crippling that part of your mind might leave you damaged, possibly insane. She didn't cry. She wasn't the sort of woman who weeps easily, your mother. She asked me if there was another way, and I told her you could be made to forget those parts of the Shadow World that you could see, even as you saw them. The only caveat was that she'd have to come to me every two years as the results of the spell began to fade."

"And did she?" Clary asked.

Magnus nodded. "I've seen you every two years since that first time—I've watched you grow up. You're the only child I have watched grow up that way, you know. In my business one isn't generally that welcome around human children."

"So you recongized Clary when we walked in," Jace accused. "You must have."

"Of course I did." Magnus was annoyed at the slow perceptions of his guests. "And it was a shock, too. But what would you have done? She didn't know me. She wasn't supposed to know me. Just the fact that she was here meant the spell had started to fade—and in fact, we were due for another visit about a month ago. I even came by your house when I got back from Tanzania, but Jocelyn said that you two had had a fight and you'd run off. She said she'd call on me when you came back, but"—he shrugged slowly—"she never did."

Clarissa's eyes glossed over in thought, then realization. "You were there, that day. I saw you coming out of Dorothea's apartment. I remember your eyes."

"I'm memorable, it's true," Magnus hummed. His eyes, his sparky personality, all were completely unforgettable from his not so humble point of view. He focused again on the problem at hand. "You shouldn't remember me. I threw up a glamour as hard as a wall as soon as I saw you. You should have run right into it face-first—psychically speaking."

Clarissa ignored him. "If you take the spell off me, will I be able to remember all the things I've forgotten? All the memories you stole?"

"I can't take it off you," Magnus said, standing sheepishly.

"What?" Jace barked. "Why not? The Clave requires you—"

That was the second time the Shadowhunter had threatened him that night. Jace really was testing the warlock's rare show of goodwill and hospitality to his kind. It wasn't bound to last much longer if the boy kept this up.

"I don't like being told what to do, little Shadowhunter," Magnus warned.

"Don't you know how to reverse it?" Alec piped up, as if to diffuse the situation before it started. "The spell, I mean."

"Undoing a spell is a great deal more difficult than creating it in the first place," Magnus explained. "The intricacy of this one, the care I put into weaving it—if I made even the smallest mistake in unraveling it, her mind could be damaged forever. Besides, it's already begun to fade. The effects will vanish over time on their own."

"Will I get all my memories back then?" Clarissa asked. "Whatever was taken out of my head?"

"I don't know. They might come back all at once, or in stages. Or you might never remember what you've forgotten over the years. What your mother asked me to do was unique, in my experience. I've no idea what will happen."

"But I don't want to wait." Clarissa sounded like a petulant child who expected to have her way. Of course, Magnus couldn't judge. He himself had sounded just the same many times before. "All my life I've felt like there was something wrong with me," she began thoughtfully. "Something missing or damaged. Now I know—"

"I didn't damage you," Magnus interrupted bitterly. "Every teenager in the world feels like that, feels broken or out of place, different somehow, royalty mistakenly born into a family of peasants. The difference in your case is that it's true. You _are_ different. Maybe not better—but different. And it's no picnic being different."

Magnus didn't know what was coming over him, but a rant began to spill out from him.

"You want to know what it's like when your parents are good churchgoing folk and you happen to be born with the devil's mark?" He pointed to his own eyes. "When your father flinches at the sight of you and your mother hangs herself in the barn, driven mad by what she's done? When I was ten, my father tried to drown me in the creek. I lashed out at him with everything I had—burned him where he stood. I went to the fathers of the church eventually, for sanctuary. They hid me. They say that pity's a bitter thing, but it's better than hate. When I found out what I was really, only half a human being, I hated myself." His chest ached in a breath. "Anything's better than that."

There was silence in the room once again. No one knew how to counter such an appalling experience.

"It wasn't your fault," Alec spoke softly, making an unmistakable effort to comfort the warlock. "You can't help how you're born."

It was an unfamiliar—but not unwelcome—occurence for Magnus to be consoled by a Shadowhunter. How strange that this boy, this _stranger_, seemed to already accept him more than his parents ever had. Alec seemed invested in his past without even knowing him. His kind gesture touched Magnus in a way he hadn't expected and wasn't entirely prepared for.

"I'm over it," Magnus declared, his guard impenetrable. "I think you get my point. Different isn't better, Clarissa. Your mother was trying to protect you. Don't throw it back in her face."

"I don't care if I'm different," Clarissa insisted. "I just want to be who I really am."

Magnus swore in a demon tongue. "All right. Listen. I can't undo what I've done, but I can give you something else. A piece of what would have been yours if you'd been raised a true child of the Nephilim." He glided toward his ornately carved bookcase and pulled out a large and impressively worn book. Its covers were made of a stunning green velvet. He threw it open and began flipping through the pages, all of which were marked by a darkly painted rune.

"Is that a copy of the Gray Book?" Jace queried.

Magnus continued to scan through the pages of the book, unwilling to pause to provide an answer. His silence was answer enough.

"Hodge has one," Alec remarked. "He showed it to me once."

"It's not gray," Clarissa felt the need to mention. "It's green."

"If there was such a thing as terminal literalism," Jace sighed, "you'd have died in childhood. Gray is short for 'Gramarye.' It means 'magic, hidden wisdom.' In it is copied every rune the Angel Raziel wrote in the original Book of the Covenant. There aren't many copies because each one has to be specially made. Some of the runes are so powerful they'd burn through regular pages."

"I didn't know all that," Alec commented.

Jace jumped onto the windowsill, pulling his legs up with him. "Not all of us sleep through history lessons."

"I do not—"

"Oh, yes you do," Jace challenged, bickering in a way only parabatai could, "and drool on the desk besides."

"Shut up," Magnus ordered, but his voice was decidedly distracted. He closed the book once more, his fingers serving as a placeholder, and walked back to where Clarissa sat. He set the book cautiously on her lap. "Now, when I open the book, I want you to study the page. Look at it until you feel something change inside your mind."

"Will it hurt?" Clarissa finally sounded afraid.

"All knowledge hurts," Magnus pointed out. And like any experience, he knew, this would have to be a lesson the girl learned on her own, the consequences be damned.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Here's another chapter! I've got the next few outlined, so they'll be up soon enough. :) Please review with your thoughts and hopes for the story. **

**Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns all of these characters, the locations, the story, and a good portion of the dialogue. (Especially in the first few chapters.) I own nothing but my imagination; the universe is hers.**

* * *

Her eyes were coated with amazement as she took in the runes of the Gray Book. Clarissa Fray, formerly ignorant of the Shadow World, studied each page with rapt absorption, unwilling to so much as blink for fear she'd miss something. Her delicate, callused hands flipped through the pages, sighing as the familiarity of it all overwhelmed her senses. She cried out in an unwelcomed surprise when Magnus snagged the book from her lap.

"That's enough," Magnus announced. "If you read all the runes at once, you'll give yourself a headache."

"But—" Clarissa protested.

"Most Shadowhunter children grow up learning one rune at a time over a period of years," Jace informed her in a more reasonable tone than he used for anyone else. "The Gray Book contains runes even I don't know."

"Imagine that," Magnus snorted. His hospitality was well worn out by the demands of Shadowhunters.

Jace ignored the jab. "Magnus showed you the rune for understanding and remembrance. It opens your mind up to reading and recognizing the rest of the Marks."

"It also may serve as a trigger to activate dormant memories," Magnus added. "They could return to you more quickly than they would otherwise. It's the best I can do."

Clarissa hung her head low, unsatisfied. "I still don't remember anything about the Mortal Cup."

Magnus felt like the wind had been knocked out from him. He leaned against the closest wall for support, his long frame nearly collapsing. So much made sense to him now. The Shadowhunters would never merely care to awaken the memories of a random girl, unless she contained some sort of valuable information they could ultimately exploit.

"Is _that_ what this is about?" Magnus asked his unwanted guests. "You're after the Angel's Cup?" He turned back to Clarissa. "Look, I've been through your memories. There was nothing in them about the Mortal Instruments."

"Mortal Instruments?" Clarissa repeated. "I thought—"

"The Angel gave three items to the first Shadowhunters," Magnus cut her off. "A cup, a sword, and a mirror. The Silent Brothers have the sword; the cup and the mirror were in Idris, at least until Valentine came along."

"Nobody knows where the mirror is," Alec spoke up. "Nobody's known for ages."

Magnus mentally began to refer to the boy as Alexander; it felt much more exquisite on the tongue.

"It's the Cup that concerns us," Jace declared. "Valentine's looking for it."

How thoughtless, Magnus thought, and how very asinine. The boy was acting like a martyr, as if he had no regard for his own life as long as good triumphed over evil. Of course, such was the way of the Shadowhunters, and the reason why Magnus refused to ever get close to them again.

"And you want to get it before he does?" Magnus asked, his tone suggesting he was doubtful of their abilities.

"I thought you said you didn't know who Valentine was?" Clarissa questioned.

"I lied," Magnus admitted uncaringly. "I'm not one of the fey, you know. I'm not required to be truthful. And only a fool would get between Valentine and his revenge."

"Is that what you think he's after?" Jace fished. "Revenge?"

"I would guess so. He suffered a great defeat, and he hardly seemed—seems—the type of man to suffer defeat gracefully."

Alexander's dazzling blue eyes burned into the warlock's. "Were you at the Uprising?"

Magnus met his gaze, feeling a deep concentration settle in his gut. It was impossible to look away from those eyes. "I was," he admitted, just as candid as ever. "I killed a number of your folk."

"Circle members," Jace clarified. "Not ours—"

"If you insist on disavowing that which is ugly about what you do," said Magnus, his gaze unwavering, "you will never learn from your mistakes."

Alexander's handsome face turned an unflattering red from the attention. He sought out the matelasse coverlet, uncomfortably sinking his fingers through the material to avoid any more eye contact with the warlock. "You don't seem surprised to hear that Valentine's still alive," he muttered quietly.

What an enigma the boy was, Magnus realized. Straightforward yet self-conscious—two qualities one would never assume could go hand in hand. Yet, in some odd way, it worked in Alexander's case.

"Are you?" Magnus asked in all seriousness. The room had no answer to that.

"So you won't help us find the Mortal Cup?" Jace asked in disbelief, with an unmistakable hint of frustration underlaid.

"I wouldn't if I could," Magnus curtly answered, "which, by the way, I can't. I've no idea where it is, and I don't care to know. Only a fool, as I said."

Alexander's shoulders straightened. "But without the Cup, we can't—"

"Make more of you. I know," Magnus interrupted. He still had that uncanny ability of finishing everyone's sentences, always two steps ahead. "Perhaps not everyone regards that as quite the disaster that you do. Mind you, if I had to choose between the Clave and Valentine, I would choose the Clave. At least they're not actually sworn to wipe out my kind. But nothing the Clave has done has earned my unswerving loyalty either. So no, I'll sit this one out. Now if we're done here, I'd like to get back to my party before any of the guests eat each other."

Jace looked about ready to start a brawl with the High Warlock. His parabatai placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. However futile the effort seemed to Magnus, it appeared to have the desired effect.

"Is that likely?' Alexander asked in an unsteady voice, desperate to keep Jace from overreacting.

"It's happened before." Magnus smirked at the spectacle, moving closer to his door to better shoo the Shadowhunters away. They continued to chatter amongst themselves as if their presence was still warranted in his room. Magnus, growing impatient, sought to end the conversations before they deepened. "Move it along, teenagers." He snapped his fingers in that diva way only he could pull off. "The only person who gets to canoodle in my bedroom is my magnificent self."

"Canoodle?" Clarissa echoed, testing out the strange word as if it were foreign.

"Magnificent?" Jace repeated unkindly, simply because it was his nature to be inappropriate.

"Get out," Magnus barked at them, reeling with fury.

They exited the room, with Magnus flying out behind them. He was still fervently pissed off, but deep down he felt like he had something to prove to the young Shadowhunters. Maybe even something to prove to himself. He slammed the door shut behind him, the hinges ricocheting from the impact.

Those teenagers still had no idea how magnificent Magnus Bane could truly be, but he soon resolved himself to show them.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Here's chapter six! Sorry for the wait. It's a short one, so I'll try to get the next one up as soon as possible. Review!**

**Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns all of these characters, the locations, the story, and a good portion of the dialogue. (Especially in the first few chapters.) I own nothing but my imagination; the universe is hers.**

* * *

The party remained as impressive as Magnus had left it. The glamor of it all was simply unreachable for anyone else, but came so naturally to his celebrations. Even more mud, paint, and Silly String now covered the room. Of course, it wasn't really necessary. Everything was already covered in glitter—an accessory Magnus could never do without. A small stage stood at the center of the room. The hired musicians for the night were making their way onto it, having come back from a break. They began to sing again, their voices too high and jagged to be anything but supernatural.

"I hate faerie bands," Magnus declared solemnly, listening to yet another eerie song take over the room. "All they ever play is mopey ballads."

Jace simply laughed as he looked around the room, as if the surrounding ruckus was contagious for him. "Where's Isabelle?" he wondered aloud.

Clarissa spun in a circle as if in a panic, guilt etched across her face. "I don't see him. Them, I mean."

"There she is." Alexander nodded to his alluring brunette sister, who now appeared far more disheveled than when Magnus had first seen her. Alexander waved her over, increasing the level of his voice as he called to her. "Over here," he said. "And watch out for the phouka."

Magnus spotted the brown-skinned skeletal creature that the boy referred to.

"Watch out for the phouka?" Jace repeated in question.

"He pinched me when I passed him earlier." Alexander stiffened. "In a highly personal area."

"I hate to break it to you," Jace began, "but if he's interested in your highly personal areas, he probably isn't interested in your sister's."

"Not necessarily," Magnus pointed out, having a rather personal knowledge on the subject. "Faeries aren't particular."

Jace eyed the warlock with disdain. "You still here?"

_At my own party_, Magnus wanted to say. _A party to which you weren't even invited._

But before he could respond, the Isabelle girl had returned to the group, looking far out of her usual element. "Jace! Alec! Where have you been? I've been looking all over—"

"Where's Simon?" Clarissa jumped in.

Isabelle swayed on her feet, eyeing the redhead nervously. "He's a rat."

"Did he do something to you?" Alexander demanded. Magnus couldn't help but enjoy this fierce side of him. "Did he touch you? If he tried anything—"

"No, Alec," Isabelle whined. "Not like that. He's a _rat_."

"She's drunk," Jace spat, turning away.

"I'm not," Isabelle countered resentfully, then giggled, effectively blowing her cover. "Well, maybe a little, but that's not the point." She took a deep breath. "The point is, Simon drank one of those blue drinks—I told him not to, but he didn't listen—and he _turned into a rat_."

"A _rat_?" Clarissa repeated dubiously. "You don't mean..."

"I mean a rat," Isabelle explained. "Little. Brown. Scaly tail."

"The Clave isn't going to like this," Alexander commented. "I'm pretty sure turning mundanes into rats is against the Law."

Jace smirked. "Technically she didn't turn him into a rat. The worst she could be accused of is negligence."

"Who _cares_ about the stupid Law?" Clarissa yelled, wrapping her hand tightly around Isabelle's wrist, digging her nails into the other girl. "My best friend is a rat!"

"Ouch!" Isabelle screamed as she attempted to pull her wrist away. "Let go of me!"

"Not until you tell me where he is," Clarissa ordered, their squabble finally earning the attention of other partygoers. Clarissa didn't budge a muscle. In fact, she looked about ready to start a brawl.

How odd, Magnus mused. He'd really thought that Jace would be the most troublesome of the bunch that night.

Clarissa's face continued to redden furiously. "I can't believe you just left him—he's probably terrified—"

"If he hasn't been stepped on," Jace interrupted with yet another useless remark.

"I didn't leave him. He ran under the bar," Isabelle argued, pointing to Magnus' temporary canteen. She tried to pull her arm away again. "Let go! You're denting my bracelet."

"Bitch," Clarissa yelled suddenly, and launched Isabelle's hand back at her.

Before anyone could respond, Clarissa had taken off in the other direction, running over to the bar. Without missing a beat, she dropped to her knees and began looking under the space beneath it.

"What a drama queen," Isabelle proclaimed, rubbing circles around her wrist.

"Whatever you say," Jace snapped back at her. "You had it coming sooner or later." He gave her one last annoyed look before following Clarissa over to the bar.

Alexander remained silent, his interests too conflicting.

"Come on," Isabelle huffed. She began the march over to Jace and the others, her brother right behind her.

Magnus excused himself from their company without a word. This was yet another problem for the Shadowhunters to tackle. This time he didn't plan to involve himself. He moved in the opposite direction in search of his own slightly less-damaging drink.

He found himself a rainbow-colored cocktail and began taking generous sips from it. It had taken much too long, but Magnus was finally enjoying his little soiree.

After all, it wasn't a party until all hell was about to break loose.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I tried to get this up faster this time, but I guess it didn't happen. Sorry about the inconsistency. A small FYI, I plan on referencing "The Bane Chronicles" throughout this story. This chapter contains a small reference to "The Runaway Queen". If you have read them, hopefully it will be fun for you. If not, it's not significant enough to really matter. Either way, I hope you enjoy this. Please review!**

**Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns all of these characters, the locations, the story, and a good portion of the dialogue. (Especially in the first few chapters.) I own nothing but my imagination; the universe is hers.**

* * *

There was something about the effects of alcohol that Magnus adored. Downing a shot, his throat quickly ignited with fire. A deep, toxic burning became rooted in his lungs. It made his chest ache and his mouth tingle with an unsettling yet oddly pleasant pulsation. His concentration lapsed for the moment, his thoughts becoming jumbled as a wave of dizziness took over. The sensation made him want to act in an unpredictable fashion, to earn the undivided attention of his guests once more. He wanted to serenade a lucky someone, or dance in circles seductively around them. If only he had a little more incentive.

He quickly snatched a flute of champagne off a nearby tray and drank some more.

"Careful now," a female voice warned. "You wouldn't want someone to find your behavior unbecoming, would you?"

Magnus turned his head and cast his gaze in the direction of a pretty girl with a heart shaped face and curly locks of red hair. Her eyes were a deep amber and, upon further inspection, contained a teasing glint to them. She was playful, Magnus decided. Much more playful than the typical vampire.

"Have we met?" Magnus asked curiously.

The woman clutched at her chest. "I'm hurt you don't remember. It was only a few centuries ago after all. In Paris."

Magnus gave her a long look, recalling his time in the fashionable country. Slowly, the pieces came together. "Ah, yes. You were one of Marcel Saint Cloud's clan, weren't you? Perhaps that might explain why I blocked it out."

If the woman hailed from Paris, Magnus could only assume that she carried a wee bit of a grudge against him.

She smiled brightly, no fangs portruding out. "He was rather detestable," she admitted easily, apparently over the clan's vendetta. "The very reason us vampires have such a bad reputation."

"One of many reasons," Magnus muttered none to quietly.

The woman laughed and took a step toward him. "I'm Blanche," she introduced herself. "Blanche Douay."

Magnus took her hand and kissed it. "Magnus Bane."

Blanche simpered. "Pleasure."

It was then that a tall brunette came storming between them.

"There you are," said Isabelle.

Magnus turned on her, eyes narrowing. "Has any figure of authority informed you that it is rude to interrupt a conversation?"

"I don't recognize any figures of authority," Isabelle snapped back.

Magnus' eyes shimmered as he stared her down. "Fair enough."

He excused himself from Blanche, with a promise to find her again at his next impromptu gathering. She looked to be just the sort of a wingwoman that one needed at a party like this. His interest was far from romantic. The Lightwood boy still held that particular aspect of his fascination. Besides, history had proven that vampires were almost always the love 'em and leave 'em types.

Magnus slowly directed his attention back to Isabelle. "What is it you need?"

"Your magical assistance is required," Isabelle spoke savagely, although it was clear her anger was directed elsewhere.

"Again?" Magnus sighed.

"Jace insists," she tacked on darkly. "Apparently I have to play the messenger."

"He insists on a lot of things," Magnus commented.

"They're at the bar." She hiked her thumb in the direction of her friends, her bracelet sliding down to her wrist.

Magnus waved in front of himself, finding it foolish to argue. Isabelle would simply bother him until he agreed. "Lead the way."

The pair sashayed their way over to the young Shadowhunters. Upon arrival, Magnus witnessed a small rat squeak inside Clarissa's hands. He chuckled at the sight. The mundane really had turned into a rat.

"_Rattus norvegicus_." Magnus said the words almost jovially before eyeing the mundane closer. "A common brown rat, nothing exotic."

"I don't care what kind of rat he is," Clarissa snarled. "I want him turned back."

Magnus considered her request as he usually did, but still came to the same conclusion. "No point," he said flatly.

"That's what I said," Jace added, with just another of his typical smartass responses.

"NO POINT?" Clarissa yelled. "HOW CAN YOU SAY THERE'S NO POINT?"

"Because he'll turn back on his own in a few hours," Magnus explained. "The effect of the cocktails is temporary. No point working up a transformation spell; it'll just traumatize him. Too much magic is hard on mundanes, their systems aren't used to it."

"I doubt his system is used to being a rat, either," Clarissa pointed out. "You're a warlock, can't you just reverse the spell?"

Magnus considered that as well. "No," he said again.

Clarissa gave him a look. "You mean you won't."

"Not for free, darling, and you can't afford me."

Few could, Magnus knew.

"I can't take a rat home on the subway either," Clarissa complained. "I'll drop him, or one of the MTA police will arrest me for transporting pests on the transit system." The small animal in her hand made a noise as if insulted. "Not that you're a pest, of course," Clarissa amended.

Then a commotion broke out. A swarm of vampires had gathered near the door, shouting various ramblings about motorbikes and missing friends. Some were so inebriated that their words came out slurred and incomprehensible. At the center of it all stood one female vampire yelling above the rest. Blanche.

Magnus rolled his eyes, accepting that his assistance would always be needed somewhere. "Excuse me," he declared to the group as he left to take care of the latest problem to plague his party.


End file.
